O: Nay. But I’ve got a mind to be on the lookout, ’ere at the seashore, for any sudden changes or impediments to his lordship’s status.

T: ‘Changes or impediments…’? I’m not sure I follow you.

O: Anything that might prove burdensome to ’is place in the world. Any sudden deviations from the norm. Any of a host of situations be likely to occur in the off-season.

T: Wot are you on about, woman?

O: P.B.S.

T: P.B.S.? Wot’s that?

O: Public bathing scandal.

***

(Two days later. Late afternoon. Under the boardwalk in Nice again.)

T: What a carve-up! The Countess Dowager hasn’t been so angry since the time Mrs. Hughes misspelled ‘aspic.’ But what exactly ’appened? I can’t get the details from all the tumult.

O: Well, I wouldn’t know personal-like. But apparently when his lordship entered the water at the lido, a very large wave knocked over a fellow bather whose arm happened to knock his lordship’s bathing costume clear off into the briny depths. Or so I’ve been told.

T: A flash of pink at the shore can be quite blinding. But is it really enough for outright scandal?

O: Well, it seems—not that I know anything about it, of course—that, due to a hunting accident, his lordship’s undercarriage bears certain … eccentricities.

T: Go on, O’Brien.

O: Apparently his fruit-and-veg is….

T: Yes?

O: Apparently it’s lopsided and resembles a percentage sign.

T: His banger is mashed?

O: Aye, Thomas—there’s something awry with his Branston pickle.

***

(Two days later. Under the same boardwalk. Miss O’Brien is smiling.)

T: You’re looking much less austere than usual, O’Brien.

O: The restorative powers of the sea.

T: Right, then.

O: I mean, me wages are still reduced, don’t get me wrong. I’m still living in reduced circumstances. But now I’ve ’ad a tiny taste of what it feels like to be the overdog.